


Abasement of Pride

by deathtouchwlw (deathtouch)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, BDSM, Established Relationship, F/F, Face-Sitting, Humiliation, Masturbation, Shame, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtouch/pseuds/deathtouchwlw
Summary: Femfeb 2019 | Fanfic“Some geneticist genius you are. I can’t believe people in your field respect you. Everyone at this company looks at you like you’re a God among men, but you can’t do anything without someone telling you to. Qué triste.”





	Abasement of Pride

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd! all mistakes are my own.

Moira blinked at the faint glow of her computer screen, looking at it but not seeing. She could hear the quiet hum of the refrigerator two lab benches over, rattling on in the night as it cooled samples and specimens. There was an ache pinching between her shoulder blades that came from being hunched over her desk all day. The pain was dull and distant, but uncomfortable enough that she couldn’t ignore it.  
  
She sat fixed and unmoving, blinking slowly. It was late. She should be home, in bed. She should have finished completing today’s notes hours ago. If she was already staying this late, she ought to add more cultures to the incubator so she wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow.  
  
There was so much work to be done, endless hours of it. She should be doing it. She should be doing something. Something other than sitting here, quietly staring at her computer screen.  
  
She was vaguely aware of the lab door opening, and the soft sound of footsteps crossing the tiled floor. She should have known right away who was coming. All of her colleagues had left at a reasonable hour, gone home to their families. The only other people in at this time of night were the cleaning staff and the 24-hour IT personnel. No, that wasn’t right. It was so late, even the cleaning staff were home by now.  
  
One of the IT techs, Olivia Colomar, came trotting right on through the lab past lab benches and desks like it was her domain. She stopped at the end of the bench and crossed her arms over her chest. Moira lifted her head, finally looking away from her computer screen. Olivia was a vision. Whoever enforced business professional clothing standards was obviously trying to kill Moira, because every time she saw Olivia in a button down with a skinny tie, she went weak.  
  
“Jesus, you’re still here?” Olivia jeered. She cocked up one of her notched eyebrows, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t you have a life?”  
  
Moira closed her eyes a moment, letting the warmth of the insult wash over her. No. Of course she didn’t have a life. She had nothing. She was nothing, and she knew it.  
  
Olivia drew closer, bridging the distance between the two of them. She had the advantage of height because she was standing while Moira was sitting so, she used it. She loomed over the geneticist with a powerful presence.  
  
“Don’t tell me you still have work to do.”  
  
Moira glanced at her notes. She needed to finish recording the details of today’s research. Just a few more words. If only she could will herself to write them.  
  
“Go on.” Olivia snapped her fingers. “Do it, then.”  
  
All at once Moira set about her task. Her pen carried across the paper, scribbling conclusions and reminders for follow up procedures to perform tomorrow. She could have done it on her own. Really. She could have. She would have found the motivation to finish eventually. It just felt better when she was following Olivia’s orders.  
  
Moira paused in her writing, glancing over at the IT tech where she was leaning against the lab bench. She stared at the soft shape of Olivia’s thighs. She was standing close enough that Moira could reach out and touch if she wanted to, but she didn’t. She just looked.  
  
“Stop staring,” Olivia said sharply. “Finish up! How long does it take?”  
  
“My apologies,” Moira muttered quietly.  
  
“Shut up. I didn’t tell you to speak.”  
  
Ah, well. Olivia had her there, that was true. Moira silently finished her notes. When she was done, she secured the lab notebook along with the others beside her computer console. She had cleaned her bench already. There were a few emails that needed sending off, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. She was done if she wanted to be. She looked to Olivia but said nothing, waiting for permission to move or talk.  
  
Olivia glanced at her again, one eyebrow arched high. “You are so pathetic, you know that.”  
  
Moira swallowed. She knew.  
  
“Some geneticist genius you are. I can’t believe people in your field respect you. Everyone at this company looks at you like you’re a God among men, but you can’t do anything without someone telling you to. _Qué triste_.”  
  
Moira closed her eyes again for a long moment, relishing in the disgust of Olivia’s tone.  
  
“Get up,” Olivia’s voice snapped her out of it. “I’m leaving.”  
  


* * *

  
Moira’s apartment was, if she was being honest, an unreasonable expense. She didn’t even pick it out herself. She told a realtor her budget and took the apartment closest to work. It was a penthouse in some lofty high rise that only pretentious people lived in.  
  
She hadn’t decorated it, either. She hired someone else to do that for her. There were very few personal touches around the place, save for her accolades on the mantle above the fireplace; a medal from the Genetics Society of America and an Edward Novitski Prize.  
  
Olivia was as comfortable here as if it were her own home. She had her own key and came and went as she pleased. More than once Moira had come home to find her hosting parties here.  
  
Men and women, she didn’t know had been sitting around the expensive dining room table writing code on their computers in some fast-paced race. For every ten lines of code written, they took shots. It got out of hand pretty quickly.  
  
Afterwards they had gone spilling out across the multimillion-dollar apartment making a mess of things. Moira never say a word, she just cleaned up quietly after them the next morning when Olivia ordered her to. Usually a maid came and did that kind of work, but Moira didn’t mind it if she was following orders.  
  
There was no one here now. No parties, no maid. Just the quiet of an empty home. They were so high up they couldn’t even hear the traffic in the streets below.  
  
Moira sat at the foot of her bed, another unreasonable expense. It was king sized, much too big for someone who lived alone, with sheets that cost far more than any square of fabric should.  
  
“I want your hands on me,” Moira requested, her voice dark and low.  
  
Olivia stood before her. Her tie had come off, and the buttons of her dress shirt were undone. When she shifted just right, Moira got a peak of the black bra underneath.  
  
“No flogger? No crop?”  
  
“Not tonight. Just your hands.”  
  
Olivia seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. “Tell me your safeword.”  
  
“ _Dearg_.”  
  
It was Irish Gaelic for red. Easy enough to spit out if she needed to, but she wouldn’t need to. She and Olivia had been going at this for so long. They were aware of each other’s limits.  
  
With the safeword clearly established the game could continue from where they left off at the lab.  
  
“You want me to put my hands on you, huh?” Olivia reiterated the request, sounding particularly unimpressed.  
  
Moira wasn’t sure if she was allowed to speak, but she did anyway. “Yes.”  
  
“Beg for it.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
Moira felt sick, always ill-at-ease with begging. It was one thing to sit and endure insults, but to have to use her own voice to degrade herself was another. She wallowed in the sickening discomfort, relishing the feeling of humiliation.  
  
“Please…” Her attempt was weak at best, and she knew it.  
  
Olivia did nothing, said nothing. Stood there with a look of derision on her face as she waited for more. Somehow getting no reaction at all was worse than Olivia demanding better.  
  
“Please,” Moira tried again. “Please touch me.”  
  
“ _Please touch me_ ,” Olivia parroted back, mocking Moira’s low voice. “Is that how you beg? Really? I’ve seen dogs beg for treats with more enthusiasm. How’s it feel to be outmatched by a mutt?”  
  
Shame burned through her, and Moira clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m begging,” She insisted. “Please, Olivia. If you want me on my knees, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Please, please just touch me.”  
  
Apparently, her efforts were good enough because the next thing Moira felt was a hand fisting in her short red hair. Immediately her head was yanked back exposing the long curve of her throat. A whispery noise of surprise and slight pleasure escaped her. She blinked up at Olivia, open and receptive to anything the other woman wanted to do to her.  
  
“What would your lab assistants say if they could see you now,” She wondered aloud, not loosening her grip on Moira’s hair in the slightest. “All those interns and grad students looking up to you. Can you imagine what they’d say if they saw you like this?”  
  
Moira swallowed hard.  
  
“Should we show them?” With her free hand, Olivia slipped her phone from her pocket.  
  
It wasn’t even on but just seeing it put a fear in Moira like nothing else. It was an empty threat but breaking out an actual recording device during a scene like this was like playing with fire.  
  
“What do you say, want to make a video for me?”  
  
“No,” Moira whispered, stating the truth.  
  
Her reputation would be ruined. Not just because she was the submissive one here, either. A sex tape leaked to her colleagues? Even if she was the one on top, she shuddered to think of what would happen if anyone in the genetics community saw her in a sexual situation like that.  
  
“No?” Olivia gave her head a mean shake. “You think I give a shit what you want? If I want to film you, I will. If I want to send it to everyone you work with, I will. If I want to ruin your life, I will. You’re nothing to me, you get that?”  
  
The sick feeling that had been pooling in her stomach since the very moment she started begging grew to a low thrill of fear. The feeling, like a swarm of insects crawling through her insides, was almost comparable to sexual pleasure and excitement. The conflation and confusion of the two feelings left Moira aching for more humiliation and degradation the way other people ached for fingers and tongues between their legs.  
  
Olivia finally let go of Moira’s gingery hair. “You’re disgusting. Get away from me.”  
  
Moira didn’t immediately move… she wasn’t sure exactly where to go. In the split second it took to hesitate, Olivia was snapping her fingers in a way that elicited a startled flinch in return.  
  
“The middle of the bed. Now!”  
  
She didn’t need to be told twice. Moira went willingly, crawling onto the mattress with her long limbs. She settled directly in the middle.  
  
“Did I tell you to get on your hands and knees?” Olivia asked, frustration rising with each word she spoke.  
  
Moira glanced down at herself, at her hands planted on the mattress like she wasn’t sure how she ended up here. “…No.” She conceded.  
  
“So, what the fuck are you doing on your hands and knees?”  
  
It took her a moment to think of a reply. She knew there wasn’t one that would be good enough. “I don’t know.” She admitted quietly.  
  
“Yeah, you don’t know anything, do you?” Olivia muttered. She had circled around the side of the bed, looming in the periphery of Moira’s vision. “Lay down.”  
  
As she moved to obey the sharp snap of Olivia’s fingers brought her to an abrupt halt. If Moira had allowed for a flogger or crop before they started, she was more than certain she’d feel the sting of it now.  
  
“Not like that! Take your shirt off first.”  
  
There was no way Moira would have known to do that, but that didn’t stop her from feeling stupid for not thinking of it first. The ever-present sick feeling of shame sharpened within her and she had to pause to close her eyes and draw a breath.  
  
Despite the haste from a moment ago, Olivia allowed this short reprieve. Moira sat back on her heels to disrobe, stripping her shirt off. She wasn’t told to do anything with it and chanced tossing it aside. Olivia allowed this without comment.  
  
Moira had been naked in front of her before. Most nights, she would be completely nude by now. Something about being half undressed made her feel vulnerable and odd, a between state, awarding only half of her body privacy.  
  
She wasn’t sure if she was meant to take off her bra as well and cautiously sank back down to lay on her stomach with the undergarment still on. Apparently, this was acceptable. She laid her cheek down upon her folded hands, staring off towards the closed closet door as she waited and wondered what would happen next.  
  
It wasn’t too much of a surprise when Olivia mounted the bed and came to sit right on top of her. She settled on the backs of Moira’s thighs, a sea of pale white flesh on display before her. Olivia’s hands, soft and warm, touched gently at the bare shoulders in front of her. It was inexplicably gentle, careful, like something that might lead to a massage.  
  
“Is this what you wanted when you begged for me to touch you?” She asked.  
  
Moira wasn’t sure if this was a trick question or not. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she had begged for it. Fingers around her throat, maybe. It didn’t matter, in the end. Not really.  
  
“I… I wanted you to touch me however you thought I deserved.”  
  
Olivia laughed at her, quick and smug. “Good answer.”  
  
Her fingers trailed over Moira’s skin, down her spine. She stopped at the bra’s clasp and after a few seconds to build anticipation she lifted the strap and snapped it against Moira’s flesh. It didn’t hurt much, but it was enough to earn a wince in response.  
  
“You don’t deserve any kindness. Not from me. Not in the way I speak to you, and not in the way I touch you. Get that?”  
  
“Yes,” Moira agreed, readily.  
  
Olivia unclasped the bra, straps falling slack. With an open canvas of skin before her, she stuck her sharp nails in just below Moira’s neck and dragged them down. Pink lines rose where she scratched.  
  
Moira hissed in pain, tensing up but trying not to squirm. It hurt and felt good all at the same time, similar to the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Both sensations were so much like pleasure sometimes she couldn’t make sense of it.  
  
“I should scratch my name into your skin.” Olivia mused. As she reached the waistline of Moira’s pants she stopped. She started over again from the top, sticking her nails in hard and dragging them down again. “Show everyone who you belong to.”  
  
“Yes,” Moira whispered.  
  
“Yeah, you would like that wouldn’t you.” Again, she dug her nails again. Again, she painfully scratched her way down Moira’s back. “When I’m done, I’ll take pictures. We can post them up online. How many followers do you have on twitter, now? Hm? 15 million?”  
  
Moira cringed. She didn’t even run that stupid twitter account, some low paid social media consultant probably did. She hated that it existed at all, and she dreaded thinking about how many people followed it.  
  
What self-respecting scientist cared about numbers on social media? Still, the idea of so many people seeing her… shirtless and scratched red and raw. Olivia’s name dug into her flesh. She moaned softly at the thought.  
  
A thumbnail pierced her flesh just below her shoulder blade. She felt the searing pain of a circle being etched into her back. She couldn’t tell if the skin was broken or not, but it hurt like hell regardless. The straight lines of L I V I and A followed. Her fingers ended up curled in the sheets, cheek now resting on a tight fist. She was marked now, well and truly.  
  
“Are you going to thank me? Or are you just going to lay there?”  
  
“Thank you,” Moira said at once.  
  
Olivia snatched her by her hair again, jerking her head back at a terrible and painful angle. Moira gasped.  
  
“Is that how you thank people?” Olivia asked her. “Huh? I waste my time putting my name on something as useless and pathetic as you are and that’s all you’ve got? Two measly words?”  
  
“I’ll do better,” Moira assured, keen to correct her mistake.  
  
“Damn right you will.” Olivia let go of her hair. She shifted her weight, sitting up on her knees. “Turn over. Now.”  
  
It was a little uncomfortable turning over while caged between Olivia’s thighs, but Moira managed. Her scratched and sore skin smarted in pain as it touched the sheets. She arched painfully against it before adjusting, a look of clear discomfort on her face.  
  
She stared up at Sombra who towered over her, kneeling over Moira’s slim waist. She wanted to reach out, to rest her hand on those thick thighs, but she didn’t dare…  
  
“Let’s see how grateful you really are.” Olivia said, hiking her tight business casual skirt up.  
  
It was already pushed up high but now she pulled it higher, revealing the complete lack of underwear underneath. Moira’s heart stutter stepped in her chest and a definite pang of pleasure cut through the sick feeling that had overcome her.  
  
Olivia has been naked underneath her skirt this whole time? Moira hadn’t seen her take any panties off. Had she gone to work like that? The idea was so deliciously scandalous.  
  
She had almost no time to consider it, though. Olivia cut off all other thoughts entirely by moving to kneel up beside Moira’s head and sit directly on her face. There was no confusion in how, exactly, she was meant to thank Olivia.  
  
Moira was barely given room to breathe, much less move. Her job here was to test the capacity of her lungs and let Olivia ride out her pleasure. She hungrily put her tongue to what use she could, relishing the heat and taste of a warm cunt.  
  
Again, fingers found her hair, not yanking or pulling this time but threading through her lengthy fringe. Olivia’s breathy moans filled the empty bedroom. She set a steady rhythm of rising up and grinding back down again, chasing after Moira’s tongue in just the way she wanted it.  
  
She didn’t bother giving any breaks for air until, in lung burning desperation, Moira tapped twice on her calf. Even then Olivia only lifted up enough for Moira to gasp for breath before settling back down again.  
  
It was easy to tell when she was getting close. The muscles in her thighs began to tremble and the cadence of her moans rose higher. She brought herself off, doing more work than Moira. Her fingers knotted in the red hair she was gripping when she eventually climaxed. Her orgasm shuddered through her body. Seeing, hearing, and feeling her come was enough to set Moira moaning.  
  
Olivia had just enough strength to dismount. She collapsed aside Moira atop the mattress, half sitting up and leaning on her elbow. Breathing heavily, she reached out to swipe at the wet juices covering the lower half of Moira’s face.  
  
“Shit, you’re a mess.” She laughed faintly. “You want to come too?”  
  
Moira nodded eagerly but didn’t get her hopes up.  
  
“Go on then,” Olivia waved her hand dismissively. “Do it yourself.”  
  
It was all the permission she needed. She hurriedly went for the waistband of her pants, undoing them as quick as she could. Her unclasped bra had somehow slipped half off sometime in the middle of things, and she flung it in annoyance from her arm to get it out of the way.  
  
Moira thrust her fingers into the heat and dampness of her own underwear. She was so keyed up, all it took was a few good strokes of her tender clitoris with the tips of her fingers before she was shaking with her own orgasm. She arched off the bed, scratched shoulders digging into the sheets. She didn’t make much noise, never very vocal in bed, but her breath came quick and harsh.  
  
Her climax was over as quick as it arrived, a flash in the pan. The taut muscles of her body relaxed, and she lay there staring up at the ceiling, hand still thrust down her pants. She slowly but surely caught her breath. God, she needed that.  
  
Olivia curled towards her, cuddling up to her shoulder. “Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Moira breathed, nodding.  
  
“Come here, let me hold you.”  
  
Moira turned on her side and gathered Olivia into her arms, pulling her close. She hid her face in Olivia’s neck, breathing in the sharp scent of her sweat. It was oddly comforting in a way, a reminder of how human they both were.  
  
“I didn’t break the skin.” Olivia whispered.  
  
“Okay,” Moira was oddly sad and relieved at the same time. She was too wrecked from the long day of work and hours of thrilling humiliation to think of anything else to say.  
  


* * *

  
A grumbling rumble rose from the crumpled-up comforter. “Mmm… what time is it?” Olivia groaned.  
  
“Almost 7:30,” Moira told her after casting a quick glance at the clock on the wall. She’d already showered, eaten breakfast, and was almost entirely dressed.  
  
“Shit, we only went to sleep four hours ago. Come back to bed.”  
  
Moira smirked, fondly shaking her head. If only. She had to admit that curling up with Olivia under the covers was enticing. She was hard pressed to continue getting ready to leave.  
  
“I’m due at work in half an hour.”  
  
“Fuck work,” Olivia muttered, turning over to hide from the bright overhead light under the covers.  
  
“Fuck work indeed,” Moira agreed, crossing over to the wall mounted mirror to adjust the collar of her shirt. “That insufferable boot-licking sycophant Ibrahim Hassoun is touring the facility today. I’m meant to act like I care.”  
  
Olivia stifled a sleepy laugh, always amused by Moira’s ire. “The only boot-licker I’ve got time for in my life is you.”  
  
“Tch, I’ve never licked your boots.” Might have gotten down on her hands and knees and begged at her feet, but no actual boot licking.  
  
“You want to?” Olivia asked. “That can be arranged.”  
  
Moira changed the subject. “You work today?”  
  
“Mm,” a soft groan in the affirmative. “6 to 2.” Always on that night shift.  
  
Stepping up to the bed, Moira rooted around the goose down comforter until she found Olivia bundled up underneath. The girl went squirming, burrowing for warmth and hiding from the morning light. She wasn’t quick enough to evade the warm kisses Moira planted on her cheek and eyebrow. “Come find me after your shift is done.”  
  
She’d need Olivia after a full day of dealing with meetings with ministers and no time to properly review her research results.  
  
Olivia cracked open an eye. “You gonna lick my boots for real?”  
  
“I might,” Moira mused. She kissed Olivia again.  
  
“Give’em hell today.”  
  
“Oh, I always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> (apologies to Ibrahim Hassoun! i'm sure he's a nice guy?)
> 
> i'm taking femslash february suggestions year round  
> send requests or prompts ➝ [here](https://curiouscat.me/deathtouch)  
> femfeb '19 masterpost ➝ [here](http://deathtouch.tumblr.com/post/182484342728)  
> follow me on twitter ➝ [here](https://twitter.com/deathtouchxx)  
> thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆


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